She’d shared this information with Byron earlier this evening, and neither of them knew what to make of it. Victorija was not one for delegation. She liked power and control, so there must be something else going on. There were also smaller vampire families, clans, newly turned vampires going to the Dred banner. They were building their numbers, but to what end?

Alexis was shaken from her thoughts when she heard a low moan coming from Katie’s bedroom. Katie was dreaming.

But then the moan became, “No, please don’t. Josie, no.”

Alexis was by the side of her bed in seconds. Katie was thrashing around, quite distressed. She fell to her knees and took Katie’s hand.

“Shh, shh, it’s all right. I’m here.”

Suddenly Katie gasped and her eyes popped open. “Alexis?”

“You were having a bad dream.”

Katie turned over on her side to face Alexis. “Josie was chasing me, and I couldn’t get away.”

Alexis put both hands around Katie’s and kissed her knuckles. “She can’t get you. I’m here.”

“Will you stay?” Katie asked.

“Of course I will. Just shut your eyes. You don’t have to be frightened when I’m here.”

Chapter Eleven

Victorija had been staring at the computer screen for hours, in between feeding from her vampire blood hosts. She had followed the trail of birth, death, and marriage certificates back through the years, from Daisy MacDougall’s birth. She had nearly given up many times.

The way she was feeling, on the constant edge of hunger, was driving her insane. Victorija just wanted to get up and smash her head against the stone castle wall. But she resisted and finally found what she was looking for.

It was a parish record from l810, a marriage in Glasgow between Marie Anne Brassard and Thomas MacDougall.

“Fuck.” Victorija let her head fall to the desk in frustration. She had a hunch, followed it, and it had been right. The French Brassard family had married into the MacDougalls.

She sat up quickly and unlocked a drawer in her desk. Victorija pulled out an old leather diary, monogrammed Angele Brassard.

Victorija brought the diary to her lips and kissed the name on the cover. “My Angel. What do I do now?”

A feeling of panic surged through her body. It wasn’t something Victorija was used to feeling, nor the pain of first love and fear and grief and despair that came along with her memories of Angele Brassard.

Victorija had shut down her heart and kept these raw, desperate emotions locked up so tight in a dark corner of her soul. So locked up that she had almost forgotten they were there, but with this blood hunger and the feelings that her grandmother had released with her touch, those overwhelming emotions came bursting out.